


Love and a Cough

by ownedbyacat



Series: Sane, Safe, Alive [15]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:46:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1789339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ownedbyacat/pseuds/ownedbyacat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's said that love and a cough cannot be hidden. So why does everyone think that Clint is on a revenge trip?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and a Cough

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the long delay, but I really wanted to get my novel finished and out to be read. While I'm waiting for my awesome betas to finish reading, I get a bit of time to update my fanfics. So here's the next part of Clint and Phil's journey. I hope you enjoy!

"Where's Barton?" Agent Phil Coulson looked up from the intelligence report in front of him. He had requested both Natasha and Clint to meet him in his office for a pre-mission briefing, but only the redhead had made an appearance. "Where's Barton?" he asked again.

Natasha Romanoff's elegant shrug covered a multitude of meanings. Right then, it was irony. "Hiding," she answered.

"Because?" As far as Coulson was aware, there was no reason for Clint Barton to hide. All his outstanding reports were filed, he was up to date with his medical checkups and he'd completed the required physical training. Coulson had not received any messages about issues involving Clint and they'd not argued about anything recently. He raised a brow towards the redheaded agent in a silent request to be enlightened.

"You've not spoken to him in the last couple of days, have you?"

"I haven't even seen him."

"Ah," Natasha nodded sagely. "That explains it."

"Explains what?" Phil Coulson's temper was on a short leash. He had a mission to prepare. One that was very close to his heart.

"Clint caught a cold a week ago. It's not that bad, but it has left him with a rather nasty cough," Nat admitted, only just holding back a smile. "He's worried you won't take him. And seeing who the target is, I'm sure he wants to be there."

"May I ask how you obtained access to classified information before I even released it?"

Nat settled herself in the chair across from him and looked entirely unimpressed. "We had it first," she stated. "Why else do you think Clint is hiding?"

"He's an idiot if he thinks I'd keep him from this particular mission," Coulson grumbled. "If anyone has the right…"

Nat shrugged and pulled the briefing papers into her lap to read. "You know how he is," she said as she turned the first sheet over. "If he really wants something he either convinces himself that he's not good enough for it, or he talks himself out of wanting it."

Phil Coulson did know that. He'd seen it in action often enough. And it hurt him every time it happened. Despite Barton's reputation as one of SHIELD's top field agents, despite people trusting him with the most complicated, dangerous jobs, despite Coulson's and Nat's friendship and all their attempts to make the archer feel like one of them, Clint Barton didn't believe in his own worth.

Even after three years fighting alongside Nat and Coulson he still saw himself mainly as a street brat, rescued by Coulson's pity and here on sufferance. And whenever Coulson tried to tell him different, he wouldn't listen.

"I have got to beat that out of him," Phil Coulson sighed, not at all surprised to hear Natasha's short, mirthless laugh.

"Good luck with that."

***

It was late and the corridors lay quiet and empty when Phil Coulson knocked on the door of Clint's quarters. It took a while for Clint to open the door, though Coulson heard him moving around inside, and when he did Coulson almost winced. Standing in the doorway in nothing but dark sweats and a crumpled, grey t-shirt, Clint Barton was braced for disappointment. His lips were pressed together in a sharp, straight line. His shoulders were up around his ears and even the skin around the bright blue eyes looked pinched and tight.

"Can I come in?"

Clint stepped aside without speaking a word, closing the door once Coulson was safely inside.

"You missed the mission briefing," Coulson announced. He settled himself on Clint's couch and spread out papers on the low coffee table. "Flight control is predicting bad weather and turbulence, so you might not get a chance to read up on this during transport."

"You're…. reading me in?" Clint's voice was high with disbelief.

"That's what I usually do," Phil replied, not looking up. "What is the matter with you, Barton? You catch a cold and you think I'll let you lay about doing nothing?" Phil fished a piece of paper from his folder and held it up. "I've waived your pre-mission physical," he said simply. "Just sign this when we come back."

Clint stared as if he'd seen a ghost. Then a huge, delighted grin cracked the tense facade and the tense shoulders relaxed. He looked younger, all of a sudden. Younger, and happier than Phil had seen him in a while.

"Yes, sir."

Clint settled on the sofa beside Coulson and they went over mission parameters, intelligence reports and the blueprints for the building where the man who had turned Clint into a walking bomb was apparently holed up.

"Why didn't you tell me you were tracking him?"

Clint flushed, but he didn't look away. "Didn't want to cry wolf. Nat picked him up shortly after you rescued me. I've been watching him all those months when I couldn't do anything else," he admitted with a tiny, embarrassed smile. "Stopped me from going stir-crazy. And made me feel as if I was actually doing something useful."

"You could have told me. I'd have understood."

Clint just looked at him for a long time, not saying anything, and Phil wondered if they would ever return to the easy friendship they'd enjoyed before he so spectacularly screwed up.

"Let's go over the blueprints again," he said to distract himself and within moments they were tracing corridors and making plans for entry and exit routes.

It was in the middle of a spirited discussion over using the central heating tunnels beneath the building to secure any other hostiles they might run into that Clint was seized with a coughing fit. Hard, hacking spasm racked the archer's body and he doubled over, clutching his middle as he fought for air. Coulson didn't draw back. He reached into his pocket and held a dark blue bottle into Clint's field of vision.

"What is this?"

"Inhaler. To stop your cough. Three sprays in front of your face and breathe in."

"Oh. I remember that," Clint wheezed, when he'd followed Coulson's instructions and caught the scent of mint in the air.

"It's similar to what they gave you before. Trish says it relaxes your airway and helps you breathe, as well as suppressing the cough. You can use it during the mission as often as you need to, but she wants to check you out when we get back."

"Thank you." Clint looked sheepish. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Sure." Coulson rose and collected his papers. "Wheels up at 0600. Be there."

***

Another bout of giggles overtook Clint and he only just managed to silence the comm in time. At the rate that he was going, he might as well leave his comm on mute all afternoon. Or end up making a spectacle of himself. Again. It wasn't that the mission was especially entertaining, or that he found particular enjoyment in chasing the man who had poisoned him and locked him into a coffin, it was simply that... another wave of giggles had him leaning helplessly against the corridor wall, eyes screwed shut and breathing in gasps.

He reached for the inhaler, determined to stop the wheezing when it hit him. The blue bottle was almost empty. He'd inhaled the fragrant mist every time he'd felt the tell-tale tickle in the back of his throat thinking it the precursor to a coughing fit.  What if he'd inhaled too much of the stuff and the giggles and unsteadiness were the result? Was that even possible?

Clint stared at the blue bottle suspiciously, then shoved it back into his pocket. "Did Trish say anything about side effects when she gave you that inhaler?" he asked quietly, after switching the comm to his and Coulson's private frequency.

_No. Why?_

"I feel strange."

_Strange, how? And since when?_

"Unsteady and giggling." Clint almost died saying the words. It sounded the pinnacle of stupid. And that was the last thing he wanted to sound like talking to Coulson mid-mission. The man was never going to take him seriously again.

_Since when?_

"Last half hour or so?"

_After you checked the upstairs lab?_

Clint froze. Everything in him went cold at the idea of having been poisoned again.

_Clint?_

As always, Coulson's voice was the steady centre, the calm in the midst of the storm, and Clint's mind and body responded like they always did. The worst of the unsteadiness faded, the panic in his mind quietened and he found the space he needed to think, analyse and respond.

"Sorry," he said very softly, determined to pay Coulson back for his concern in the only coin he had available right then: pure, naked honesty. "Started to have a bit of a meltdown, there. Yes, the symptoms started after I checked the upstairs lab. But it's also possible I OD'd on the cough mixture. The bottle is almost empty."

_Are you compromised?_

"No," Clint replied firmly. And he wasn't. As soon as the fear had rushed through his bloodstream, all other symptoms had disappeared. They'd return, given time, but for now he was functional.

 _I'll keep everyone away from the upper level, just in case,_ Phil decided. _Go assist Romanoff. She's located our target._

***

A short, brutal firefight later, the SHIELD team had six men under arrest. Clint stood well back, bow in hand and arrow nocked, while the six were secured for transport. Two were out cold, the other four were running their mouths. Clint had seen it often enough before and normally it didn't bother him. But never before had he been forced to listen to the high, cackling voice he heard in his nightmares threaten the people he cared about. He was grateful as never before that he had made it onto this mission, that he stood where he stood and that Nat and Coulson were in his line of sight, safe and sound.

While Coulson organised their team, Nat came across to his side, expectation clear in her eyes. "Don't you want to see him? Interrogate him?"

Clint's eyebrows made a valiant attempt to reach his hairline. "Whatever for? Let the geeks and the shrinks work out what he wants."

Natasha had the best poker face in the business, but right then she looked totally confused.

"What?" Clint asked, suddenly uncomfortable.

"If you're not here to…," she waved in the direction of the raving man being secured for transport, "then why are you risking pneumonia?"

Clint felt it, the heat rising up his neck to his hairline. Shit! He hadn't thought of that. Hadn't expected anyone to catch the slip and now he had no glib answer ready. Natasha wasn't helping, either. Her eyes went wide for just a moment, and then she turned and walked away.

"Oh. I see."


End file.
